


With This Ring

by AwkwardAnnie



Series: Errata and Addenda [3]
Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Fluff, Love, M/M, Romance, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 22:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardAnnie/pseuds/AwkwardAnnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein for once it is Raffles and not I who does something ridiculous, and I am made an offer I cannot refuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With This Ring

This next story begins with a statement of fact: I am a hopeless romantic. I am well aware of this and although when I was younger and cared more for other people's opinions I protested most vehemently at the label, I have long since grown past the need to deny it, for why bother to deny something that is both obviously true and of little consequence in the grand scheme of things. My friend Raffles is also something of a romantic, but of a very different nature. His idea of romance, both in the classical sense and the more modern, is tempered by a lifetime of living in shadows, aided in no small way by his unease with expressing sentiment of any kind. It is not that he doesn't care for the emotion itself, but rather that he prefers not to bare his soul to all and sundry. He tolerates my tendency toward extravagant displays of affection with reactions ranging from mild amusement to outright irritation. On occasion, however, he is capable of extraordinarily selfless and superfluously romantic acts made all the more wondrous for their rarity. One such act, the memory of which still never ceases to make me smile despite the intervening years, was the incident with the rings.

* * *

 

It was a wet and blustery night. The rain had been hammering on the rooftops of London for hours already and the whole city sat sodden and miserable as Raffles and I trudged back to my flat through the downpour, feeling like drowned rats and looking rather worse. Neither of us had spoken a word throughout the journey, and indeed said nothing until we were standing dripping rainwater on my threadbare carpet, whereupon Raffles peeled off his bedraggled tailcoat and cast himself face down onto my hearthrug.

"Never again!" he declared damply. "When next I decide that play must continue despite inclement weather, be a good chap and smack me upside the head, would you?"

"I did try to dissuade you," I reminded him, wringing the worst of the water out of my own clothes. "Ugh, I think that's about done for this coat. You were most insistent. ‘The show must go on!’, you said.”

"A terrible idea and I curse the hubris of my past self. There's a reason cricket stops when it starts to drizzle."

"Cricket also breaks for tea, and yet we have never brought tea on a job." I stepped over my friend, who was already creating a substantial puddle, to light the fire. "A crying shame, I feel."

"It would be nice," said Raffles from the floor, "to have an umbrella small enough to fit in a pocket."

"Perhaps you should invent one. You would be a rich man within weeks and I could stop scurrying around rooftops in the pouring rain." I extended a hand down to him. "Come on, up off my poor rug and I'll run us a hot bath."

"My dear rabbit, that may be the most beautiful sentence you've ever uttered."

* * *

 

There are many small pleasures in life, such as the songs of birds in the early morning or the way sunlight breaks through leaves, the sound of a beautiful piece of music or the casual touch of a lover, and the great poets have waxed lyrical upon these subjects for thousands of years. One pleasure which is most unfairly overlooked in the realm of verse, however, is undoubtedly that of returning home after a hard day's (or night's) work, shedding the clothes and trappings of toil and stepping into a bath that is neither too hot nor too cold but just right, so that the warmth sends shivers up one's spine and makes one gasp in delight. It is a pleasure increased tenfold if one also happens to be sharing that bath with the love of one's life. I leaned back against Raffles' chest and accepted the Sullivan he had lit for me, feeling sensation return to my beleaguered extremities, and reflected that if each lifetime can contain only a finite number of perfect moments then I was quite content for this to be one of them.

"An excellent call, my boy," murmured Raffles in my ear. "Do you know, I feel better already."

"I just hope it was worth it," said I. "I'd hate to have nearly drowned out there this evening just for a few pounds worth of jewels."

"Let's see, shall we? Her ladyship keeps many fine jewels but I have to confess I didn't glance too closely at what I was shovelling into my pockets." He transferred his own Sullivan into his other hand and snaked one long arm over the side of the tub to where his trousers had ended up when we had disrobed. There was a tinkling as he emptied the contents onto the tiles. "Ah, yes, a fine sapphire necklace, a few pearls, this cameo will fetch a pretty penny—halloa!" He brought his hand up to show me, and in his fingers was a brilliant diamond ring. "I declare it's her engagement ring from her first husband! I'm surprised she kept it after the business with the Portuguese woman, but I suppose diamonds are diamonds. Lucky for us, eh, Bunny?" A hint of mischief crept into his voice as it was wont to do. "I'm almost tempted to keep it. You never know when you might need a diamond ring."

"I can't imagine what use you'd have for one," I said. "I'm hoping you weren't planning on using it for its original purpose."

Raffles laughed, a deep, warm chuckle. "Perhaps I was! Oh, my dear Bunny," he exclaimed in a ridiculously dramatic voice, flourishing the ring. "Would you do me the honour of giving me your hand? You'd make me the happiest man in the world!"

"Honestly, AJ," I smiled. "I'd have hoped that if you were ever fool enough to propose to me you might not be so tacky as to do so with someone else's ring." I was, of course, joking about the possibility of Raffles proposing, for the idea was fundamentally absurd, and yet I couldn't stop my heart from fluttering at the thought. I strove to hide my reaction from my friend, who would no doubt have mocked me mercilessly for such a fanciful wish.

"Yes, I suppose it is a trifle gauche," Raffles sighed theatrically. "But I note that you have not said no, so there is hope for me yet." He returned the ring to the floor and nuzzled the side of my jaw. "Hmm, you are well-overdue for a shave, my lad."

"I know, I’m sorry. It slipped my mind this morning and I haven't had a chance since."

"Don't apologise, I rather like it. Gives you a certain rugged appeal—don't laugh!"

"Forgive me," I chuckled, "but I can't say I've ever thought of myself as having much of any sort of appeal, rugged or otherwise."

"Well, you quite obviously do," said he, "so don't let's have this argument again." And with that he took one last drag on his Sullivan before flicking it into the water and sliding both his arms around my waist. His mouth fell to worrying at the crook of my neck and I, seeing where this was heading and having no objections of any kind, sent my own cigarette to a watery grave and relaxed back into his embrace.

The only downside to sharing a bath with A. J. Raffles is that sooner or later most of the water ends up outside the tub.

* * *

 

Life continued, much as it had done, and I thought little of the brief conversation about the ring which, along with the rest of the jewels, went very nicely towards keeping the pair of us in the manner to which we had become accustomed. Indeed it was not until nearly two months later when circumstances again led to us plying our devilish trade in the dead of night that I even remembered. The situation was similar, although this time we were both considerably less drenched and sat not in my bathtub but in Raffles' chambers at the Albany with the spoils of victory spread across his coffee table.

"This time, perhaps?" my friend asked with a grin and held up a gold ring with an enormous amethyst setting. I couldn't help but laugh, and humoured him readily.

"A little ostentatious, don't you think? And I haven't anything to match the colour."

"Alas, you're a picky one," he proclaimed melodramatically. "No matter, the search continues."

From then on it became a private joke. Raffles would pilfer rings of all shapes and sizes and bring them to me for consideration, as if someone had trained a magpie to retrieve. After a suitably weighty pause I would announce that the day's offering was too showy, or too heavy, or too small, or an unsightly colour, and each time Raffles would sigh long-sufferingly and say that I was too choosy for my own good. This ritual occurred on average twice a week and went on for several months before I noticed a pattern emerging. At first, the rings he had shown me had been all manner of designs, but gradually they seemed to become more understated as I turned down the opal cabochons and princess-cut diamonds. Finally one day he brought me a plain silver band and sat beside me in front of my hearth as I turned it over and made the usual humming and hawing sounds. It was certainly a nice item, unassuming but well-made and polished to a bright shine. At Raffles' insistence I slid it onto my finger and was surprised and a little delighted to find that it fit well.

"I think this is my favourite one yet," I said, and his face lit up like an angel's.

"Splendid!" he said. "You really are a nightmare to shop for, you know."

"Indeed." I pulled the ring off to examine it again. "And where did you purchase this particular one? Was the engraving included?" I angled the inside face of the ring towards the light. " _'Very sincerely yours'_ ," I read. "Hmm. Sounds more like the end of a letter than an endearment. And two sets of initials, neither of which, sadly, correspond with our own. A fine effort, my love, but alas, I must decline. I still cannot bring myself to marry a man with someone else's ring." I shot Raffles a wink but was surprised to see him looking crestfallen for just an instant before he shrugged.

"So close and yet so far," he said casually and then glanced at the clock. "If you'll excuse me, I must turn that in before everyone shuts up for the weekend; the pawnbrokers around the corner should suffice. I will see you tomorrow, my boy." And he took the ring from my palm, kissed me quickly and was out the door in the same breath, leaving me to wonder what I had said to upset him.

After that, there were no more rings. At first I did not notice, for the strange rituals had been irregular, but then the excuses began. Raffles began to tell me he could not see me during the day. He would not allow me to come to his chambers but would instead arrive at my flat late in the evening looking tired and drawn. If he stayed with me at night, he was invariably gone by the time I awoke. Time and again he refused to answer my questions concerning his whereabouts but merely kissed me and told me that he loved me, which was in itself unusual because, as I have said already in these accounts, he handed out those three words as if they were made of gold. At the time I was myself preoccupied with preparing a series of articles for a small magazine—the only honest work I had been able to get for some time—and as such I allowed this bizarre behaviour to continue for nigh on two weeks before I became too frustrated by his continued evasiveness to let it pass. That evening, I marched over to the Albany and hammered on Raffles' door. When I got no response, I let myself in. The lights were off, the room cold; he had not been there for some time. I settled myself in an armchair and resolved to wait.

I did not have to wait long. The clocks had not struck seven before the door opened. The lights came on in a flash and there stood a strange bearded man in Raffles' old covert-coat. When he saw me, he started violently.

"Bunny?!"

I peered closer. "AJ? Is that you? What in God's name are you doing?"

"I might ask you the same question," said my friend crossly, peeling off his false beard. "Why are you lurking in my front room in the dark?"

"Why are you avoiding me?" I shot back, rising. "Are you in some sort of trouble?"

"There's no trouble," he assured me, placing his hands on my shoulders. "But please, you must trust me, I—what day is it?"

"Thursday. Really, AJ, if there's something wrong I wish you'd tell me."

"Then tomorrow is Friday. Please, Bunny," he said softly and kissed me gently. "Go home. I'll come round tomorrow evening and I promise you will have your answers."

I left only reluctantly and with Raffles' repeated promise of explanations. The next twenty-four hours seemed to drag unbearably as I tried to occupy myself in productive work; when at last the familiar knock came at my door I fairly leapt from my desk to answer and was rewarded with the sight of Raffles on my doorstep. He had heavy bags under his eyes and had made an only half-hearted attempt to comb his hair, but he was smiling widely and embraced me the instant I had closed the door.

"Sit down," he instructed me, and when I did not immediately respond he took hold of my elbow and guided me to the settee, sitting down beside me. "I have something for you."

I had no idea what to expect until he pulled the small square box out of his pocket, and then it was all transparent, though I could barely believe it. The little box was heavy in my hand and I cracked the lid with fingers that shook like leaves. Silver glinted amid red velvet.

"You wanted to know where I was," said Raffles, and I nodded dumbly. "The greengrocer's on Parks Road. The wage of a shop assistant isn't much to live on, but if all you need is enough coin to buy a bit of jewellery then it does well enough, especially if you're willing to work all sorts of ungodly hours. The jewellers were even kind enough not to charge extra for the inscription."

I hardly dared breathe as I lifted the silver ring out of its case.

_Yours Faithfully,_ read the curlicue letters on the inside of the band, followed by two sets of initials: _AJR &HM_

I looked up at Raffles, completely speechless.

"Would you do me the honour?" he asked quietly.

There are moments in life where something so staggering and immense occurs that all hope of sensible response is flown and one is left with a choice between bursting into laughter and bursting into tears. Fortunately for my dignity and already battered masculinity, I opted for the former. I laughed and laughed until I could not breathe, and then I gathered him up in my arms and held him until I could find the air to gasp, "Of course I would, you ridiculous man!"

His smile when I finally released him was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

"May I?" he asked, and held out his hand. In a dizzy haze I gave him first the box and then my left hand, and he slid the ring onto my finger and brought both to his lips with the solemnity of a priest.

"I hope you're not expecting me to wear a white dress," I joked, awash with love and admiration for my dear friend.

"Perish the thought," he said, pulling me onto his lap. "You'd look terrible in white. A nice peach would do, or perhaps lavender. You could ask our good friend MacKenzie to be your maid of honour."

"Good God, can you imagine that? The priest would have a fit! Half the congregation too, I should think."

"Ah, but then we could pick their pockets while they were distracted and elope on the profits. Success all round, eh?"

I grinned, pressed my forehead to his and closed my eyes, and we lapsed into a comfortable silence as I stroked the back of his neck and his thumb rubbed gentle circles on my thigh.

"You're extraordinary," I said eventually.

"I am aware of this."

"And ever so modest."

"That as well."

"I shall have to buy you one, now."

Though my eyes were still closed, I felt him grin. "If you can somehow ensure the inscription includes an appalling pun related to cricket I shall be yours forever."

"I thought you already were."

"Ah, but there's the ordinary sort of forever, and then there is the sort of forever reserved for plucky little rabbits with more romance in their heads than common sense who buy me rings inscribed with terrible cricket jokes.”

"Then I'd best start working on one now," I laughed.

"That's my boy.”

* * *

 

And I did. It took some weeks and the result was, as expected, absolutely atrocious to the point where I feel unable to even include it here, but it made Raffles laugh for two straight minutes and then declare that he would never remove the gold band on which it was engraved as long as he lived, and to my knowledge he has not yet broken that vow. My own ring, unfortunately, lasted well enough until it ended up in a river in Derbyshire in an incident so commonplace as to be positively boring. I was of course distraught, but Raffles merely laughed and said that it gave him an excuse to finally buy me a vastly more expensive one. He spent the next three months doing a very good job of pretending to be a bank clerk, at the end of which he presented me with a replica of the original item but made of platinum which I am happy to report has remained unscathed through a long life of service.

Over the years I have been asked many times about the significance of my ring and I suspect Raffles has been likewise. Some of those times I say that it is an heirloom, although it is quite obviously modern. Others I pass it off as a mere affectation, though it pains me more than it should to do so. Most people are satisfied with the explanation that I wear it in memory of some lost love, not knowing that that love was indeed lost but then subsequently returned to me—and then left again, and returned for good once more.

Many would, I'm sure, laugh at the idea that I think of Raffles and I as married. After all, there was no ceremony, no acknowledgement by church or by law, and indeed both those mighty institutions consider us to be gross perversions of the very idea of matrimony. But I've no doubt there was a concept of marriage long before either existed, when the word (or one very much like it) meant only that lifelong commitment to another person to the exclusion of all else. I will have no other partner besides Raffles, and I believe he feels the same, and that will suffice as evidence for me.

My dear AJ, I know I have said many times that I do not mind what you might choose to put on my headstone should I leave this world before you, but if when the time came you saw fit to include the words 'loving husband', I think I should like that very much.


End file.
